JEAN VALJEAN AND THE GOOD BISHOP[78]
VICTOR HUGO
Early in the month of October, 1815, about an hour before sunset, a man
who was traveling on foot, entered the little town of Digne, France.
It would be difficult to encounter a wayfarer of more wretched
appearance. He was a man of medium stature, thick-set and robust. He
might have been forty-six or forty-eight years old. A cap with a
drooping leather visor partly concealed his face, which, burned and
tanned by the sun and wind, was dripping with perspiration. He wore a
cravat which was twisted into a long string; trousers of blue drilling
worn and threadbare, and an old gray tattered blouse, patched on one of
the elbows with a bit of green cotton cloth, sewed on with a twine
string. On his back, a soldier's knapsack, well buckled and perfectly
new; in his hand, an enormous knotty stick. Iron-shod shoes enveloped
his stockingless feet.
No one knew him. He was evidently a chance passer-by, but nevertheless
he directed his footsteps toward the village inn (the best in the
country-side), and entered the kitchen.
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